


aere perennius

by windingwoods



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, the vaguest lawlu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windingwoods/pseuds/windingwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deconstruction and rebuilt of Dressrosa from the eyes of Trafalgar Law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aere perennius

There’s a spotless sky on spotless streets when they land at Dressrosa and Trafalgar Law thinks he’s going to die.

He’s known it for a long time (since he was ten, ashes and poison dusting up his lungs, blinding white), and he'd got a reminder when his voice wouldn’t make more noise than the snow falling around him, the smell of wood and gunpowder and blood burning through his nose. He’s known it, he’s been thinking about it, dancing around it, romancing the very idea until it tinted his dreams from white to bloody red.

They’re easier on his eyes like that.

Standing there though, feet on the ground that’s going to be the scenery of what he doesn’t really feel like calling a battle (battling is what Strawhat does, what people who haven’t spent thirteen years of their life longing for murder do: battling has rules Law was never taught about), kind of feels like his perspective has shifted, the weight on his shoulders doubled.

He wonders what does Strawhat think of traitors.

 

.

 

The moment he realizes Doflamingo is still a Shichibukai feels ridiculously outstretched, ridiculously _heavy_ , and Law bites down on panic and regret and the thought that he may have dragged Strawhat and his crew into something that looks more and more like there’s no way out of it, no possible crack in the wall, nothing at all.

He takes a deep breath.

It doesn’t matter how far up high Doflamingo stands, doesn’t matter he’s got an admiral by his side, doesn’t matter he’s still snuggled so deep into the World Government he’s probably got roots wherever he pleases and the higher ups all wrapped around his fingers: the bullets he left into Corazòn’s body one night thirteen years ago are the only thing that matters to Law.

 

.

 

He manages to keep the Thousand Sunny safe, pulls teeth until he’s sure it’s disappeared somewhere with no clouds in sight.

_Aren’t you focusing too much on Doflamingo right now?_

He spits blood and a couple curses; the alliance is over anyway.

 

.

 

He knows there’s a tournament going on, knows about the prize and the people who crave it like it means nothing for them to stand in that arena, fighters free no more.

He knows how Doflamingo treats his little birds.

What he doesn’t know is why in the world is Strawhat standing behind the bars, the godforsaken _seastone_ bars, and just what the hell does he think he’s doing with their plan and his life but he doesn’t really get the chance to ask before Doflamingo lands a kick right where his ribs were already cracked and it all goes blank.

The last thing to reach him is the raw strain ringing loud in whatever Strawhat is yelling.

 

.

 

"Our alliance is over." He's sitting (he's tied up, he's not sure he can feel his arms anymore) on the heart-shaped throne.

He's sitting on everything that loomed tall above Corazòn for years and he can't get up, can't will his lungs to stop gasping for air like fish in a bucket.

"That's pretty self-centered of you!"

He's being chided.

"I decide when it's over and I say it's not yet."

He can't hear the sound of his reply over the crash of wood broken in two, Strawhat's fist black with haki and just a few inches over Law's head. The upper half of the throne hits the ground in splinters.

"There, you're free!"

Law swallows, thinks Strawhat's grin looks as sharp as the wood at his feet.

 

.

 

There are strings shooting in every direction, slicing the sky into countless identical slivers of blue, and Law is back being no more than a child, back to that night. Back to terror wrecking his temples like thunder, like earthquakes, like Corazòn's shaky fingers when he'd brushed the snow from his face one last time.

He's back being one of Doflamingo's little birds. Maybe he never stopped being one.

 

.

 

"Did your master plan involve keys to free me at some point or," Law trails off, lips pursed as he tries to wriggle his fingers, failing.

The birdcage seems to sneer at them, at him.

He breathes.

"Of course!" Strawhat's loud, almost offended, utterly indifferent to the seastone dragging Law down (or maybe he just trusts him to pull through, to stay by his side and never fall back, never turn away). "Rebecca's bringing them to us, it'll be fine."

He has no idea of who Rebecca might be but Strawhat does, somehow, and that’s enough as far as Law is concerned.

After all Strawhat's only ever trusted the wrong person when he shook hands with him.

 

.

 

Rebecca does bring the keys to them.

She's coated in bronze and leather and dirt and so, so much pride she kind of looks like a lightning could strike her at any given moment and she would still stand tall. The shape of her helm makes her look like a bird of prey.

It makes her look like she could get out of there alive, like they all could.

"'m sorry you didn't win in the end," Strawhat's saying to her, and he sounds sheepish but Law can sense the thrill in the lows of his voice just fine.

Rebecca only shakes her head. "It's okay, he deserved it just as much."

She's smiling now, no, she's _grinning_ and Law could swear the ground under their feet just got a lot trickier in a matter of seconds.

"Have you seen any decent swords in this hell? Mine's got a blunt blade and I need go hand Diamante's ass to him."

Law gapes, Strawhat laughs like that was exactly what he was expecting to hear.

 

.

 

As he shoves the Gamma Knife all the way to Doflamingo's vital organs he thinks about how it's these people, the people under this _man_ , who taught him how to fight, how to be like this.

Then he thinks about Corazòn's hands, warm and rough around his, never letting go. He twists the blade.

 

.

 

"He couldn't pull the trigger." His voice is hoarse, crooked, and there's throbbing pain where his right arm should be. "But I will."

There's a strange, quiet second in which Law realizes no one doubts he could do that, not even Strawhat.

He gets knocked down before he can even grimace at the bile on his tongue.

 

.

 

"It's beyond me how you've not, like, passed out already," the guy supposedly called Cabbage tells him, and there's the faintest hint of annoyance in his voice but also the faintest hint of admiration, of understanding.

"I've got to see this," Law states, makes a face when his broken ribs dig into him. "I've been wanting this for half my life."

He keeps his eyes on the battle across the roofs and streets of Dressrosa, the birdcage slowly shrinking around them, crushing whatever stands in its path.

He should be there too, either murderer or dead, bright red or hushed white, but he can't move a muscle.

Strawhat's haki has just run out.

 

.

 

His bones are rattling; he can feel them, can feel the hollow of a scream that won't come out grating at the front of his throat, right beneath his pulse, and he knows Strawhat can feel it too because he's Strawhat and being barely conscious with his back on the hard ground isn't enough to stop him from being annoying.

"Hey," he's saying, calling out for Law, a hand outstretched blindly in his general direction.

Law takes it, because he doesn't know what else is he supposed to do and because he needs grounding like he needs Doflamingo to _disappear_ , to shatter into pieces.

"Hey," Strawhat repeats, this time with a smile, faint but there. "Your hand is shaking, you know? Surgeons should have steady hands, Chopper told me so I know it's true."

He doesn't answer, and Strawhat continues, "surgeons are doctors, doctors save people. That's really, really cool."

His vision is getting blurrier too, but only five minutes have passed and Strawhat is still lying down, his fingers are still resting on Law's, and he just needs to wait five more minutes, five more times replaying Corazòn's last words to him in his head.

Five more minutes of apologizing to the dead.

"You're the second most amazing doctor I know."

He thinks of all the hospitals they went through.

Strawhat's hand feels warm and rough and is not letting go.

 

.

 

Crying with multiple broken ribs feels as if he's getting stabbed, one blow for every intake of air, sharper, faster as he sees the birdcage dissolve like it was never there.

Except it was, and there's rubble all over the place to prove it, to scream it, and Doflamingo is still alive right in front of him, unconscious, unguarded.

Strawhat is crouched down next to Law's feet, breath heavy, but quiet.

He weighs on Law's mind more than the gun in his hand.

"He deserves this."

Strawhat hums, lets his head lull against Law's leg.

"Impel Down is not gonna cut it," Law continues in between ugly, choking sounds, and he knows Strawhat's stretched too thin right now, too tense.

Strawhat who would never kill anyone, who smiles just like Corazòn, who came back from the dead just to save his brother and fail.

Strawhat who says, "the marines are going to be here soon."

He knows he's stretched just as thin, as tense. He can feel the pulling and twitching of his arm, the cold metal of the trigger right below his finger.

Corazòn was probably such a _terrible_ marine back in his days.

He throws the gun at the only wall still standing, drowns the feeling of Strawhat's hand squeezing his ankle in the burnt of his shout.

 

.

 

There's a skyful of stars above the littered streets of Dressrosa that night and Trafalgar Law thinks he's going to live, maybe, after all.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> aaah this is basically just me rambling about everything law and the whole of dressrosa could've been if, well, things hadn't gone the way they went idk oda let this kid have emotions Let Him Cry  
> the title comes from horace’s odes book 3rd and the whole phrase is ‘exegi monumentum aere perennius’ aka ‘i built a monument more long-lasting than bronze’


End file.
